The New Games
by snoobydoobydoo
Summary: Many decades later, the Capitol has risen again, the rebellion is a thing of the past and a new tribute has risen to the arena from District 12, Rebekah Reynolds. This is her story. Rated T for murder (obvious!)
1. Prologue of Panem

The New Games

Prologue: The Great Panem

My mother when I was young used to tell me a story of a young, defiant mockingjay who refused to live by orders and inspired the other mockingjays to sing in perfect harmony elsewhere, away from frail hardship. I eventually learnt this was an allegory after a History class:

_Years ago, Panem was ruled by the great Corionalous Snow who ruled Panem with great dignity, crushed rebellions with a brave, iron fist. Every year, two children were reaped in the Hunger Games. In the seventy-fourth edition of this event, two reckless District 12 gunners Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark defied the rules and sparked a rebellion that caused mountaineous death and the destruction of our homeland. The Capitol was overthrown and an idle government that did not care replaced a great legion, and the cracks in the rebellion shone. It seemed all hope was lost until a brave, brilliant speaker named Remus Sparks entered Parliament and saw what had become of the previously great nation of Panem. But soon Remus "sparked" Panem and slowly came to power, being elected as Premier of our glorious state. He reinforced the districts, the laws, the skilled Peacekeepers and most glorious of all, as you all know, the great fest of the Hunger Games. Remus himself is long dead and his son, following his father's exemplary works, has come to power but we owe to Remus as a national hero, for reinstating order into the district, and never forget, children, how much we owe the Capitol for what they have done. Never forget._

My name is Rebekah Reynolds and this is my story.


	2. Reaping Day

The Seam is at its most beautiful at dawn. The peach pink sunrise, the small fluffy clouds and the beaming canary yellow sun. It is a tradition for me to get up at dawn, because today is reaping day, unlike any other day of the year. It also happens to be my first reaping, and my name will be entered five times. I try to shut the reaping out of my mind, shut out these games altogether, but there is a stinging reality no one can overcome. But I must remember I am one of the lucky ones. I am the youngest of four children, all of whom are of reaping age, as compared to a boy in my class who is the oldest of seven in a fatherless family. My own perished years ago in a mining accident, which happens so frequently, its not uncommon any more. For a while, our family withdrew from society, wept buckets and could barely compose a sentence to one another, knowing we were an incomplete family, but my family are not ones to mope. And I am lucky that my family is not the common scrawny bag of bones that infest the Seam, but are good, strong, willing workers and if you give them a knife and one of the weaker tributes, they could make short work of it. But I must remember above all, this is the Capitol we are dealing with. The two words associated almost eternally with these games are: _Never forget._


	3. The Reaping

The reaping has never been a cold, solid affair. It is filled with endless dictatorial propaganda, colourful wigs and outfits and is put on almost as a spectacle or show, never clear and to the point. There are endless rows of children, most thin-faced Seam kids with long, empty limbs and pale, emotionless facial expressions, mixed in with the merchant breed, with the only difference being the quality of the clothes you wore. My eldest brother sat at the back with the eighteen-year-olds, the ones who were looking the most cheerful ones, the ones that spoke happily to each other, about this being it and then there would be no more. Little did they know they would only survive every reaping to be killed in one of the several coal mining "accidents". My mother waited patiently in the roped off area of pain stricken parents and those holding betting slips. I stood at the front among the twelve-year-olds, the nervous ones, the small ones, and the minority who had their name entered only once. The ceremony began as it usually did with the playing of the national anthem, and the few who dared hum its alternative lyrics. Then the great wood doors of the town hall opened and we were once again in the company of Silk Granger, a rich Capitol escort who had a fancy for neon colours and today was sporting bright pink bouffant and matching suit. Her face was chalk white with exception of her eye makeup, which was a shimmering gold. 'Welcome, welcome!' she trilled in her annoying, high-pitched voice. We all knew Silk Granger's voice was pitched at the height of Capitol propaganda. 'This is the 73rd Annual Hunger Games! Never forget!' Now her voice took a turn for the low, as she began voicing the most awkward part of the ceremony. 'Now for our Victor's Celebration.' Situated next to the Mayor's chair were two empty ones, where the past victors sit. That is, if District 12 had victors. Never in 73 years of the modern Games has a tribute from 12 won it. Next year will mark the year District 12 won it with Katniss Everdeen. But despite this the Capitol insists they replay the national anthem for when the victors would be standing up and waving to cheering crowds. Instead we have a silence where everyone glances over at the empty chairs, knowing that when this is televised, as always we will be a laughing stock. Then, we are given the same video we are given every year, about how we owe the Capitol deeply for reinstating its dominance, for killing two of our children brutally every year and we are forced to watch every last detail until our blood boils. _Never forget,_ the video ends, as it does every year. _Never forget we own you ._As we continue onto the reapings, Silk is as peppy as ever that she gets to decide who gets murdered from this district because we embarrass her every year, and you can tell this is her favourite part. 'Inspiring!' she giggles harmlessly. 'Now for the exciting part! As tradition dictates, ladies first.' As she reaches in for that single slip of paper, that single life-changing piece of paper, I know its me. I can feel its me. But that's wrong. Four slips among thousands, among the girls who are the oldest in a family of five. I have an older sister, and she can hunt, she really can. How could it be me, in what universe could it be me?

_Never forget. Never forget. Never forget._

She unfolds the slip of paper, her lips pouts into position and they say…


	4. Two Tributes

'Rebekah Reynolds!'

I can't breathe. I won't breathe. I've decided that as a mutual agreement to myself, that I'll suffocate and it'll all be over. I'm faint, shaking, lifeless, dying. I see Ruby's face in the crowd, I see my mother in shock, I see people in the roped off area stamping on betting slips, I see hubbub and commotion as everyone tries to devise who this lucky tribute is. 'Now come on, don't be shy!' Silk sings. This is great for her, because its all a game. She gets to go home. She gets to have a life. My limbs twitch and move slowly, my face is hot and flummoxed, the tears will come trickling down and my life will be over. I can't organize myself, my emotions. There's nothing left, I have no emotions, no self. All I have now is a Career knife stabbing into me, leaving me in the woods with nothing but a slow, painful, televised death. I don't hear much else. I don't hear Silk's voice announcing the male tribute, another twelve-year-old from the Seam. I hear the audiences groans, I hear Silk calling us a perfect pair and smiling her annoying smile and I shake his hand. He has determination, I can tell, he is hope. Too bad he doesn't realize that there are Careers three times his size, twice mine, ones that are sly and wicked and ones that don't even need a strategy to win, just brutal intimidation. Through the Capitol citizens many years of living among the "peasantry" they learnt about the Careers and abolished volunteering from their districts, abolished their special schools, their breeding programmes. But it still goes on through bribery because if there is one thing the Capitol loves more than torture and death, it is filthy money. And if I win I will get both.


End file.
